FLCL vs Cowboy Bebop: A Certain kind of Fool
by puppy dangerous
Summary: Haruha Raharu has a bounty on her head, and our favorite Space Cowboys are hot on the trail.


"As memory may be a paradise from which we cannot be driven, it may also be a hell from which we cannot escape."

— John Lancaster Spalding

The music is a high, peeling sax, toying with the night. It falls with the piano, with the rain, with the smoke, down a trail through a dark alley and to its termination point in a drawn breath, a flare of red., then they both fade, together. The flame flounders, flickers, fades as it is burned down to the filter. The butt is crushed absently against the wall, beside a black-shod foot, then dropped where it sizzles dully on the wet pavement. The middle of the alley is lower than the sides, and there is a thin stream of water in the middle. The road is made of stones, their rounded surfaces dully reflecting the neon lights of the high-rise businesses uptown.

The leg pushes, and the long, lean figure of Spike Spiegel snaps away from the wall like a shadow come to life. He is very tall and thin, his arms and legs seeming to long for his body, as though he was caught in an unfortunate moment of puberty and never quite got away. To add to the illusion, his hair is dark and discheveled, and his jacket appears to be several sizes to large. The entire thing gives him an appearance that would almost be comical if not for the bizarrely elegant, almost catlike way that he moves.

He turns his head and looks down the alley, then glances up at the uncertain sky which has been periodically spitting rain since midday. He shoves his hands into his pockets and strolls up the road a little way/ Spike comes to a stop beside a door that has seen better days, little more than a wood frame with a cloth draped where there had once been a large window. A light beside the door glows a feeble yellow in the green night. He hesitates for a long moment with his hand on the door frame, then pulls it open and ducks in.

. There are perhaps a dozen customers in here, a few at the bar and a few more groups scattered at the crooked tables. Nearest the door, a group of old men are conversing loudly, something about digging glances at them, then runs his eyes over the bar. Three men, middle age working types, look like they've been celebrating the recent HiRun Loop Classic for most of the day. A depressed looking office suit, contemplating the bottom of his glass. And a woman, or possibly an older teenage girl, who looks like she wants to go home but recently lost hers.

He stands, debating briefly whether he should leave or stay. His mark isn't here, that much is obvious. It had been a whim that brought him in here, a scent trailing on the wind, but the trail is cold and the game long gone. He is about to turn around and walk back out, his hand is on the door, but he stops. Part of this is the sound that is now coming from outside, a low moaning rush that means that there is rain coming in fast. Something else, though, a red tint somewhere on the back of his consciousness. The feel of something...something he wants.

Spike turns back around and looks once more into the bar. The old men are still rattling on, and everybody but the bartender is totally ignoring him. The bartender now speaks up.

"So, you win today?"

It takes Spike a second to realize he's being addressed. "Huh? Oh, no." Then, to clarify "I didn't put any money on it."

"Not a gambling man?"

"Only sometimes." Spike says with a smile. "When the odds are in my favor."

"Amen to that." The bartender laughs.

There is a sudden whoosh from outside, and the rain comes fast and hard. The ceiling drips slowly into a beer stein on the bar and a bucket on the floor.

Spike crosses the dusty floor and is about to sit down at the bar, when he gets a better look at the girl. She has a brown guitar case, and draped over it a stained and dirty jacket with distinctive colors-tomato red body with twin black v-stripes on the sides and cream colored arms. Her hair, pale pink. Looks about 5'8, 130 pounds...

Spike hesitates slightly, but not to much. It's her, he thinks. He'll have to make certain of course, but _damn_, he can't believe his luck! She's had a reward on her head for so long, she's become somewhat of a legend. The sort of bounty they re-hash on slow weeks, in the "and as a reminder" section. He doesn't know what the payoff is on her currently, but he knows it's something stupid huge.

Spike gently touches his gun, loosening it in the holster, and double-checks his handcuffs. He takes a deep breath as he reminds himself he has to get close enough to make sure, make absolutely sure she isn't just a down on her luck musician. He walks up carefully and slides onto the bar stool beside her, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Her head and body posture suggest she is completely ignoring him, so Spike risks a glance in her direction.

There is a moment when he has to bite the side of his tongue to keep from reacting. The first thing, of course, its always the first thing, _oh god she's gorgeous_. But the second thing, that's not so nice. She looks pale, not that normal strange glow people who live primarily in space have, but a sick waxy tint. Dark circles have formed under eyes that are an incredible and strange shade of yellow-green, like an almost ripe lemon. Her hair is damp and dirty, hanging in strands. He shifts his position as he signals the barkeeper, and glances over at the rest of her. She's sitting funny, he thinks, even not knowing the way she normally moves. It looks protective, careful, not resting on the bar so much as propping herself up on it. A body that should have a loose curving back holds it stiffly, and even more telling, he realizes as his eyes adjust to the dim strange light, there are the kind of marks on her clothing that would be made by boots and knees that had been in contact with the wet ground. Her arms are dirty, and around her wrists are red raw marks as though she has been recently bound. Wherever she came from, she had it rough there.

_good_, says the voice in his head, _she won't have much fight left in her_

He reaches for the drink as it is offered to him, and there is a soft sliding clink. Handcuffs shifting ever so slightly. He doesn't hesitate, but inside there is a check and he glances over, he can't help it, and sees her react. It's subtle but there, a tiny widening of her eyes, a lift of the head. She barely turns, spares him a look from the corner of her eyes, eyes that belong in the face of a bird or wild dog. There is power in those eyes, a slow burning strength that has not been tainted in the least by her physical condition. He thinks his heart must have stopped for a second. . He gets ready to grab the gun, prepared to slam her against he bar and jam the barrel up against the back of her head.

She looks over his face, then the look in the eyes changes, the face softens. Her shoulders lift slightly, her head drops again. She sighs in a way that seems infinitely tired.

"Dammit. And here I thought my luck was finally changing."

"I was thinking the same thing." Spike leans in, speaking to her close up. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

There is a pause of a few seconds, three breaths that Spike thinks sound to shallow and close, and then. "I'll go with you quiet...if you skip the cuffs."

Spike chuckles. "Not a chance, sweetheart."

He reaches out and takes hold of her arm, she starts to move away then thinks better of it. . He's going to pull her around, but she gasps stiffly and makes a noise that is so clearly pain that he instinctively stops. She has slid halfway off of the stool, and now she shoves herself upright but wavers, her face going even more pale and crossing it a look of pain, pure seething pain. She grabs for support, anywhere or anything, and falls into him. Her free hand closes around his arm.

"Please I...I don't care anymore." She shoves herself away from him and stands, though it is wavering. She crosses her arms over her chest and turns her eyes down.

The rain stops.

Spike debates for a second. He should cuff her, but, well, honestly he doesn't know if she'll even be able to walk with them on in the condition she appears to be in. Spike keeps an eye on her as he leans down and grabs her stuff. The guitar case has a strange weight, but he's head it's not really a guitar so that makes sense. He offers her the jacket, which she slips into in a slow, halting way, wincing when it settles around her shoulders. Spike throws the guitar case over his back, then puts a hand lightly against her back and motions her along.

Even at night the seagulls circle and keen, white wings with black tips reflecting the artificial lights of the peer. The clunk-clunk of water sloshing up against the sides of vessels, into the cracks beneath the massive peir, under the street the deep dop-dop of the water moving inside drainage pipes. The smell of briny salt water, oil, fish, seaweed. Dripping nets dangle from high dark machinery. The wide open tops of sea-landing ships, some of them scattered with crew and small machines. Then down and around to the dock and the steps the lead to the deck of the Bebop, still and unmoving in the water.

"Oh my GOD!"

This is Faye Valentine's breasts coming down the stairs, followed shorty by the rest of Faye in all of her yellow Lycra splendor. She clatters to the floor with surprising grace, given her footwear, and looks the woman up and down.

"Ok, I admit it." She says to Spike. "I'm impressed. What did you do, find her drugged and tied up somewhere?"

"Are you implying I couldn't catch her on my own." Spike asks, mildly offended.

"Yeah." Faye slams back offhandedly.

"Whats all the-oh." Jet Black stops at the top of the stairs and looks down.

"Ooooooh." Ed croons, looking over the rail. "Haruha Raharu!"

"You should tie her up." Jet suggests as he comes the rest of the way down the stairs. "Or something."

"I don't think that's necessary." Spike says.

"Uh-un, no way. You're not leaving her loose on my ship." Jet says firmly, his tone suggesting he will not allow any negotiation.

Haruha Raharu, who has not spoken since agreeing to come with Spike, shifts and wavers gently on her long legs. There is a faint shudder, she coughs gently. Then again, harder. She lifts her hands, covering her mouth, as it changes into a hacking fit. She is bent over, her legs kinked.. Spike grabs her.

"She's faking." Faye says loudly.

There is a sound he recognizes, he has made that sound himself, and he knows the wide-eyed look that goes along with it even before she lets her hand fall away.

"No she's not." Spike counters, and grabs her by the arms as her legs give way.

Faye leans back, away from the splash of blood. "Ew! Spike! She better not give us all some disease."

Spike ignores her, half carrying the woman to the couch and laying her down. He lifts her shirt, palpating her chest and sides. Dark bruises still blooming, his long fingers find. It doesn't feel like anything is broken, but...he presses his ear to her spasming chest, listening to her lungs. They're both getting air, though the breath sounds labored.

Spike unkinks his body and ambles off. Faye and Jet stand, watching her. Ed climbs down and walks around behind the woman, looking at her with bright, curious eyes. Ein stands farther away, his expression one of distrust.

When Spike comes back in he has a mug of something that is steaming gently. A strange, distinctly musty odor drifts into the room.

"Aw, Spike-" Jet protests.

"Drink this." Spike instructs.

It doesn't look like she's going to be able to control herself long enough to get any of it down, and the disapproving look Faye gives Spike when he holds the woman and tilts the mug to her lips doesn't go completely unnoticed. The coughing does subside a little, however.

Spike stays at her side like an attentive nurse, and eventually the others tire of watching him and go to bed. He can feel time starting to wear on him now. The woman drifts in and out of a fitful sleep, broken by coughing fits, though the bleeding appears to have stopped. He hasn't really slept much in the last few days, and it is catching up with him now. The world takes on a sharp, dreamy quality, the background drifting like he's drunk. . The lights seem glaring, and when his head starts to pound he turns off the main lights and leaves them bathed in the soft glow of the emergency lights.

He's exhausted. He wants to sleep. His deprived mind makes a suggestion which he tries to shove away. It comes back, more persistent. He leans forward and touches her shoulder, shaking lightly. She moves gently, then her eyes flutter open. She seems totally disoriented. When she looks up at him, there is something in her face that his so innocent and pure it almost makes him ache inside. Then she remembers where she is, and the look dies.

_No, don't go! _"Come on." He stands up, feels like the ship is rolling under him, and offers her his arms.

She seems to consider for the briefest second, then she reaches for him. The movement has an echo of his elegance, though there is something more, something wild and unrestrained. Then she is stumbling upright into his arms, her face suddenly pale and uncertain again.

The thought that this is a very bad idea flitters around in the back of his mind as he triggers the door to his quarters. The woman wavers and leans against him, winces, caughs again gently. He pushes her gently at the bed, nor made for nor really large enough for two people. The logic seems infallible, he can keep an eye on her and possibly get some sleep, or at least rest. Besides, he thinks, look how badly she's hurt.

He doesn't remember pulling off his tie and taking off his overshirt, nor laying down beside her. The next thing he is aware of is the smell and feel of her body against his, and for a moment there is confusion as he gropes for the reason a woman is in his bed. Then it comes to him, and he sits up quickly to look.

_They were wrong. They have to be._ Spike runs a hand through his hair as he looks at the girl- because that's really what she is, she can't possibly be over 22- that is one of the most sought after criminals in the galaxy. She's wanted for numerous counts of murder and general mayhem, there are a hundred towns and possibly even two planets that she has allegedly destroyed. To top that off, whenever anybody manages to get hold of her she starts spouting nonsense about Medical Mechanica, the hospital equipment company, trying to take over the universe by buying it out.

The thing he could never get, the thing that nobody who ever talks about her gets, is why in the world people keep helping her. No matter how many times she is almost apprehended, she always manages to slip through their clutches, and it is usually because of some selfless human she had befriended. How could they be so stupid? How could entire battalions of soldiers suddenly become blind to her presence and risk their lives, and dishonorable discharge, to get her to safety?

Now, though. Now Spike thinks he is starting to understand. This person, she isn't a monster. She is just a girl, a thin, pretty girl who is running scared. He doesn't know if he can believe that MM crap, but he _can_ believe that she is just crazy, not evil. And there is a big difference.

_And, oh my GOD she smells good. He can smell her on his body, her scent has filled his room like a drifting pink mist. It is a deep, warm scent, like the thick rich soil of an apple orchard. _

Spike stands in the middle of the small room, his arms crossed over his chest, as he thinks it over. He can't leave her in here this way, and removing everything she could use as a weapon is just plain unfeasible. He triggers the door and stands in the doorway, lighting a cigarette, one foot up on the other side of the door.

There is a light tapping, then Faye swings into view, wearing a bathrobe. She stops and looks at him. Her eyebrows raise.

They speak the subtle language of those who have lived in close quarters for a long time.

_What's up with you, you dumbass?_ her look says.

_What the fuck is it to you?_ his says back.

"Give me one of those." Faye demands.

Spike gives her a flat look, then obeys. Faye wrinkles her nose at the crumpled cigarette but takes it, then lights it from his.

She stands with one arm crossed over her chest, just below her breasts. Her eyes lock on him, then wander into his quarters. They lock on the form of the sleeping woman, then return to Spike. She lowers her head slightly and gives him one of those looks that women have, one that makes him feel guilty as shit and as though he's done something incredibly stupid and needs to do something to make it up to her. It would mean something, if he cared more for her. Instead, he retaliates and does that thing that make his eyes go dead, the look he only turns on at the very end, when it's clear that he is taking their corporeal form back minus their spirit.

"Dammit, Spike, she's gonna kill us all!" Faye bursts out.

"She's not going to do anything to anybody" Spike says calmly. "She can barely move."

"Says you."

"What the hell is your problem?" Spike asks angrily. "What, are you fuckin jealous or something?"

"Of that little whore?" Faye huffs. "Please." She glares at him for a beat "She's goddamn _psychotic_. She's a s_erial killer_. And a total lunatic. And you've got her in your goddamn _room_. _In your bed_."

"She's not a serial killer." Spike points out.

"Spike!" Faye snaps.

"Ok, ok. You're right." Spike waves his hand at her. "But she's only worth the bounty if she's alive."

"Yeah, she's not worth anything if we're all dead."

"Alright, fine. Let her stay in here for a little while longer-"

"How much is a little while, Spike?"

"Twenty-four hourse. Listen, I'll watch her. She'll be better off in here. Then we can move her somewhere safe."

Faye doesn't like this arrangement. She walks up to the doorway, Spike moves to block her and she leans around him to look. The woman seems very small curled under his covers, one pale hand resting on top of the blanket. There is dirt and blood under her fingernails and around the cuticles. For some reason, this sight strikes something in Faye that she can't explain, a brief feeling that this person is human, is a battered and exhausted woman.

"I will fucking _shoot_ her." Faye gets close to him and murmurs threateningly in his ear.

"Agreed." Spike says to the unspoken conditions tacked onto that.

He sits with his feet against the bed support and his back against the wall, his elbows crossed over his knees. Time slips by. Jet comes in and puts a hand on his shoulder, tells him to go eat and do whatever else he needs to do. When Spike comes back Jet leaves again. Faye walks past and shakes her head at him. Ed rolls past, stops, rolls back, clambers in, climbs all over him, curls up and falls asleep in his lap, gets up, fights with Ein over a sock toy, bounds off down the hall.

Raharu's hand twitches, her eyes open. She half sits up, wincing sharply. Spike has been resting with his eyes half shut and his hand on the gun in his lap, and he looks up when he hears the noise. He is ready to lift the firearm, but her face indicates she is confused.

"Hey." Spike says.

She turns to look at him, running a hand through her hair. "Hey."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I got the shit kicked out of me, and spent half the night coughing up blood." Raharu says. "Thanks for asking."

"Come on. I want to clean you up and look at you." Spike says.

Not to much later she is sitting in front of him, her stained pants removed but still wearing the t-shit and her underclothes. The air is faintly steamy. Spike has a container of water, a white cloth folded in it. Raharu's face is soft and almost blank. Spike lifts her shirt, her arms raise slowly and let him pull it off over her head. The bruises on her chest and sides are still rising, but they seem bright and glaring.. He reaches around her and unfastens her bra, slides it off, drops it on top of the shirt. He squeezes excess water out of the cloth, tilts her head up, and begins with her face. The white cloth turns dark with a mixture of dirt and blood. So it is over her body, he has to repeatedly change the water and rinse the cloth. When he is finished with her upper body he moves on, his hands drifting over her legs. When he parts her thighs she lets him do so with no resistance.

Throughout, she is silent save for an occasional noise when he hits a place that hurts her. Her eyes have gone soft again, though now it is an odd detached softness. There is something of a dejected little girl, afraid, hididng, with her hair over her face. A girl who takes over before being taken over, attacked from all sides by a brutal world she doesn't understand, fighting madly for the truth that everyone else is to blid to see.

She doesn't speak, but her body does. There is something eerie about seeing injuries you have suffered afflicted to another, at the same time, though, almsot comforting. He can read her like a book.

Marks on her wrists tell him that she was bound tightly with something narrow, like an electrical cord, so tight that it cut into her wrists and opened wounds. She had struggled with the binding, pulled and slipped at it until her blood flowed free like oil. Her ankles had been bound, though outside of her pants and leaving only harsh dark bruises. Her knees are worn, the soft pulled muscles of her arms, she was probably tied with her arms behind her back and confined somewhere in a kneeling position.

These wounds, though...all over her body, He thought at first marks from a whip, but no. They are something that sunk in and pulled, some type of spiked device. He has never seen anything like them before. They are all over her, when he looks now he can see tears in her clothing caused by whatever this was.

That was when she had stumbled into the bar, seeking refuge perhaps, or a hiding place. The cowboy had been the last straw, she had simply given up. He can't blame her.

Something occurs to him, and he moves his hand back toward her thigh. She snaps her legs closed and jerks away. He glances up at her but her hair has tumbled over her face, hiding it from view. She moves her legs apart, though there is something in the deliberate movement that is almost painful to watch.

There is a sound at the door, and Spike turns as it slides open, lifting the towel to cover her. Raharu turns her face to look, her eyes still dull and uninterested.

Jet offers something out to Spike, a stack of clothing. Spike takes it, then feels a deep, strange throb somewhere in his chest. He knows who these clothes belonged to. They still have the faint scent of her perfume. He swallows hard, then nods a 'thank you'.

Not to much later, her hair has been washed and is pulled back into a low damp ponytail. The clothes are, as she always wore, slick and black. The effect on Raharu is almost bizarre, in the black slacks and sleeveless shirt she has an oddly dangerous, professional air.

Faye stands in the hall and watches them as Spike leads her back to his quarters. She frowns deeply. Raharu's movements are guarded, hesitant, but Faye feels something underneath all that. Spike is getting played, if she isn't doing it yet she'll start soon.

On the one hand, Faye wants to keep her mouth shut and try to stay out of this, only keeping her strong resolution to kill the bitch if she tries anything. The jealousy dig had pissed her off, and she has to recognize that on some level Spike is right. The simple fact is, hurt, sick, no matter what the hell is wrong with her, that bitch oozes sex. The problem is that it seems to be both natural and totally unintentional, that kind of stupid casual sexy that almost nobody can pull off. There is a strange, profound innocence that dwells around her face, totally at odds with the experience and knowledge you know is behind those eyes. She isn't particularly curvy, a tall and athletic girl, but she walks like Marilyn-fucking-Monroe, the sharp angles of her body at odds with the round motion of her hips. She stands with her knees tilted ever so slightly in, and when she walks her feet swing around eachother, one in front of the other. The fact is Raharu simply puts every other woman she comes in contact with to shame, she makes Faye feel like a shoddy imitation.

On the other hand, though, she has some valid concerns and they are, wholly and honestly, not anything to do with who makes men slobber more. She has heard about Raharu Haruha, heard enough to know that this woman will take all of them out without any hesitation. Sure, she's hurt now, and Faye will give her some benefit and assume that she really was in bad shape when she came her. Spikes crazy magic medicine must have done its thing, she looks a hell of a lot better. And that means she's feeling better, and that means that she'll be ready to leave soon. She has no intention of being turned in, and she's just going to let Spike nurse her back to health, then she's going to want to leave.

If she does her job right, Faye thinks, she'll get Spike to let her go. Or, that's what she'll try. Except Faye will be there to talk some sense into him. Maybe by force.

Or, she will wait until Spike lets his guard down again, and then she'll either kill or incapacitate him and possibly them all, then if she's feeling nice she'll just steal one of their ships and fly off. Faye thinks this would probably be the best case scenario.

The thought that they would keep a hold of her long enough to turn her in for a reward is like a pleasant daydream you know is unlikely to happen. Hope for the best, plan for the worst.

In his room, Spike watches Raharu as she sits down on the bed, wincing again.

"Here." He says, and moves beside her.

His long hands move over her again, this time he's feeling for something else. His palms find a rib that is not sitting as it should, follow it around.

"Deep breath."

He puts pressure on it, feels it shift. She lets out a sharp breath and he hears it shift back into place. He works over her back, moving her gently and putting pressure in careful points. Its somewhere up high on her back that makes her actually pull away from him in pain. He feels her shoulder, his fingers working in around the complicated body machinery, then positions his hand .

"Nnnn-" Raharu groans. "Don't-ah!"

"Come on, I know what I'm doing." Spike says. "Come here," he motions to his shoulder, getting her to move closer. His hands position themselves again."You ready?"

"No-" Raharu insists, and as she's saying it he takes advantage of her exhalation and wrenches bones back into place, the word shifts to a clear and painful "ggggyah!"

She shudders, Spike moves from near instinct, pulls her to him and presses her face into his shoulder. Her body is warm, soft, shaking gently.

"It's OK." he says.

Raharu half sobs in response.

Spike puts is hand back on her shoulder, more gently this time, and when she tenses he makes a reassuring sound. He moves his other arm, letting it rest near her shoulders, and puts his other hand down at the base of her spine.

A warm tingle in his palms, almost a weight in the bottom hand, a pale yearning in the top. He draws her energy up, clearing paths obstructed by pain and injury. The body against him relaxes, she makes a small noise in her throat. Spike closes his eyes, moves his hand up and lets it rest gently on the back of her head. He can feel her burning under his hands. The energy work makes him feel once again sleepy and disconnected, and he moves his hands away. Her breathing has changed again, this time it is long and low. She's alseep again. He tilts her body and lays her down, her fingers close gently around his shirt then slip away.

He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep, too, until he wakes up with a crick in his neck. He's been sitting halfway up in the bed and he winces and works his neck with one hand. He looks over at Raharu, who is still unmoving beside him. He reaches out and touches her shoulder, and she shifts and twists around to look at him, her eyes still sleepy.

"Move over." He whispers.

She slides over, and he lets himsef fall beside her. For a few minutes he is breathing in the smell of her hair. She moves, slides back against him, the curve of her body impossibly warm against his chest.

God, she smells good. No, not just good. She smells like sex, flat out, she exudes pheromones. And it makes it worse somehow that she is so soft and quiet. He closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep. He feels himself drifting away, almost there, falling into a rhythm with her breathing. His dreams are a strange and soft jumble, flits and flashes clearly triggered by his bodily perceptions, an endless half-dream in which she is standing in some featureless hall in their own ship and he walks up behind her, she turns into his arms and there is the feeling of her body against him, the feel of her heart, and then he is half awake again and realizes that at some point his arm _has_ moved, and rests on her hip, he can feel the jut of bone and the round curve of muscle underneath the fabric. Spike moves his arm.

He steps into the bar, the others missing, only the old men and their hollow talk and her, there, sitting at the bar. The bartender has no features, just a figure that flits by in the background. He comes up behind her, he is going to cuff her, but she sits up and leans back on him. She turns, looking up at him, and he forgets the handcuffs. His hands play down the front of her shirt, his face pressing into her neck, and she smells so good...

He half jerks as he wakes up again, almost expecting to find he'd been groping her in his sleep. His arm is still where he put it last, though. He wonders how long he's been drifting in and out of sleep. He twists around to look at the clock, finds he's been in and out for about four hours. When he turns back around he finds that Raharu is awake, looking at him in the almost darkness.

"Hey." She whispers in a conspiratorial voice. "I need to pee."

Spike escorts her to the bathroom. He stands outside, yawning, and after a moment she reemerges. She is moving considerably better. The idea flits through his mind that he should probably secure her somewhere, but, and he is ashamed but willing to admit this to himself, he really, _really_ wants to stay in the bed with her. There is more to it, though.

He's been searching his memory for her, and a few hours sleep has nudged his sloppy mind into action. A video clip of her being dragged down the steps of some large marble building, while a newscaster talked over it. "-claims to have been set up by her superiors and lodging accusations of a galaxy-wide conspiracy concocted by the inter-stelller corporation 'Medical Mechanica'..." He can remember thinking that was the stupidest thing he had ever heard, and wondering why she hadn't chosen a more plausible target. After all, they make machinery for hospitals, that's it, and make sizable donations-build hospitals, provide free health care for many of the large law enforcement agencies. So, to try and lob an accusation that they are actually a cover for some sort of mob of pure evil, and expect it to stick-there are only two reasons she would try that. The first being that she is totally and completely insane, which is what everybody assumes, and the second being that she is actually telling the truth, and therefore everybody really is out to get her.

Looking at her, though, he sees something that the camera footage of her, always fighting somebody or something, misses. There is a strange, warm fragility about her. It is as though she is seeing the world for the first time, frightened but forced into bravery. Like an early twenty-first century movie heroine played by a film noir femme fatale. She's a beautiful girl, and she is running scared.

After the brief activity, the still silence in his room seems even more pressing. She seems to slip back into sleep, but he lies awake beside her, looking at her in the near darkness. He decides that is a bad idea and closes his eyes.

Unbidden, an image rises in his mind. Her bare body before him, the pale curve of her breasts, perfect nipples, the soft movement as she reacted to the cool water and the feel of his hand...

-_no-_

The long, bare line of her thighs, sitting at first with her legs together, then spreading them when he touched her. And the panties, form fitting, damp-

Spike forces his eyes open. His arm is getting cramped, and he rotates it around. He has to find somewhere to put it, and over her is really the only place...he wonders if he can find somewhere to put it that won't spark more unneeded thoughts.

-_go lock her up-_ the voice in the back of his head suggests. -_Or, if you can't, go get Faye. Or Jet. Somebody-_

He tries putting his hand on her hip again, and thinks that might be OK. Then she moves slightly and his hand slides up, his fingers falling over the side of her stomach. He decides he needs to move his arm.

She has her other arm under her, and he feels her shift slightly as she frees it. As he is about to pull his hand away her fingers touch his, then the hand slides up. Their fingers entwine, and she pulls his hand down, drawing his arm around her.

Spike slides closer to her. He is about to extract his hand, he just has to find some way of doing it that won't wake her up all the way. The problem is, now he's pressed all the way up against her again and...and now he's making excuses, finding reasons not to move his hand. Including sitting here analyzing his actions.

He pulls his hand away, gently.

"Hey-" Its a voice that is mostly asleep, a mumble. "Thank you."

"For what?" Spike asks, feeling a deep suspicion rising in him.

"For not hurting me." The innocence and honesty there is almost painful.

He releases his breath, and then lets himself settles in again. Her fingers stay closed around his. He thinks perhaps he is going to fall asleep again, but there is the feeling of her body, rising and falling against his palm with each breath. She shifts and moves her arm out from underneath herself, but refuses to relinquish his hand (though Spike doesn't try to hard to get it away) and he finds his arm drawn up along her side, forcing him to get as close to her as he can. Her arm comes to rest curved near her chest, and as her fingers loosen again he realizes his hand has come to rest just under her breasts, and each time she breathes he feels them press into the side of his hand. His body is tight against hers, his face almost pressed into her neck, and...

_and my god she smells so good..._

She moves gently, in her sleep, and then his face _is_ against her, the place where her shoulder and neck meet drifting up against his mouth. Her arm moves, tightening his hand. He feels his palm flatten against her, just a little, pulling her ever so much closer to him. His lips open slightly, teeth pressing against her skin.

She makes a little gasping sound, though not like the ones she was making before. Her body presses against him, the hand that had been entwined with his frees itself, settling over his own, sliding his hand up slightly.

His mouth opens, closes gently on her. The sound again, a sound of warm desire and nothing more, her body is soft and yeilding. He slides his hand around her breast, soft at first, his fingers playing over the fabric of her sleevless shirt. His fingers brush over her nipple and she gasps gently, her chest swelling and pressing into his hand. Spike feels himself stiffen, her body against his moves and wiggles, sliding up and down against him. His hand drifts down, sliding down her side and onto her hip, around to the curve of her bottom. He slides his hand back up, this time the palm works down across the front of the pants. Under the clothing, he feels her skin shudder slightly.

She rolls over slowly, facing him on the small bed, her nose almost touching his. She moves foward, her mouth opening gently, inviting. His lips brush hers, he pulls away but she reaches out and puts a hand against his cheek. Her kiss is warm and soft, slightly open mouthed.

His hand drifts over her side, sliding her shirt up once again. This time there are no pained sounds, just her warm flesh over narrow strong bones, sliding under his hands. He slides his fingers under the shirt, brushing the underside of her breast, and she gasps softly. His hands move and explore, feeling the warm terrain of her body.

Something in the back of his mind warns him that he should be suspicious, that she seems to have healed awefully quickly, and if she is up to fooling around then she's up to more.

This thought is brushed away, falling under the spell of pink hair. He lets his mouth play over her neck and collarbone, she moans and presses herself against his tongue. Her fingers tangle in his hair, her body shifts and moves against him. Her body slides on the bed, her legs twisting around his, her hips pressing in tight against his own. A deep nose slides from his throat, a sound of longing.

She tilts his head up, her mouth finding his, this time the kiss is considerbly sloppier. Her tongue slides in, exploring the interior of his mouth. It is a strange and incredibly intimate thing, as she checks the landscape of his insides.

She presses him lightly, pushing him over, not breaking contact kissing him as she pushes him over onto his back. She slides on top of him, her body warm and light. She leans over, kissing his neck, her sharp teeth occasionally brushing him but never biting. She unbuttons his shirt, playing with his undershirt for a moment, her hands sliding up and down his body. Then she settles on top of him again and pulls at the sleeve of his shirt. Spike lifts his arm to let her pull it off, her body curving down so she can kiss him.

And there it is, coldness on his wrist and a clink of steel. Spike yanks his arm and yelps indignantly as Raharu tumbles elegantly off of t he bed. Spike grunts angrily, looking around for the keys to the cuffs.

"Goddammit!" Spike wails in a rather forlorn way.

"Sorry, lover." Raharu says as she straightens her shirt.

Spike feels his jaw drop. The beautiful, innocent, pained and frightened girl is gone. She owns the room, those eyes he had thought looked young and helpless suddenly sparkling with impossible intelligence and a wild, harsh intent.

"Ge-od you're cute." Raharu grins at him. "Not to smart, though."

"Haruha!" Spike bellows angrily, tugging at the cuff. This is embarasing, is what this is.

"Ssssh." Haruha puts a finger over her mouth.

"Hey! Jet! Faye! Somebodiigh-" he gags as she shoves something into his mouth- a dirty sock. She grabs one of his ties and wraps it around to keep the gag in place.

Spike chokes and tries to spit the sock out. Haruha triggers his door and leaves. Well, he thinks, it could be worse. She didn't kill him, after all.

To his surprise, a few minutes later he hears someone walking up the hall. It's Haruha again. She walks into his small quarters, this time holding her reclaimed guitar. She looks at him and grins, arches her eyebrows Groucho-Marx style, then heaves the weapon up over her head.

Spike grunts and shakes his head frantically.

In her bedroom, Faye is asleep with a mask over her eyes, headphones blaring music. Jet snores in his cabin. Ed and Ein are curled together, asleep. Haruha moves silently through the ship, making her way to the docking area.

Jet blinks awake to the sound of a ship taking off. He jerks, looks around, then groans.

"Oh, no..."

He walks down the hall, and bangs on Spikes door. The response is not what he was hoping for, a muffled grunt and thumping. . Jet closes his eyes and puts a hand against his face, then tigers the door. Spike is on the bed, gagged and bound to the safety handle. . He gives Jet an apologetic look.

"I should leave you there for Faye." Jet grumbles.

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Faye screeches a few minutes later. She swings, Spike dodges and it makes her more angry. Ein dodges around her feet, barking loudly. The second blow would have landed home but the stupid dick gets out of the way, then has the nerve to grab her arm. "Why the hell didn't she take _your_ ship!"

"Probably because I'm almost out of fuel"

She makes an angry noise, then succumbs to fighting dirty and pegs him good in the shin. He lets ger go with a yelp. She spins around and gets him a good blow across his face, hard enough to make lights dance in front of his eyes. then storms off still cussing and, from the sound of things, throwing things in her quarters.

"You!" Faye shouts a moment later, emerging fully dressed, pulling her hair back out of her eyes. She jabs a finger at him. "This is your fault."

Spike can't think of a reasonable argument for this.

"I'm gonna kill her. I'm gonna kill that fucking bitch." Faye growls, then, turning to Spike again :"I _told_ you she was faking it! Goddam stupid jackass limp dick rooster fucker!" She finishes this off with an angry growling wail.

Jet looses it at that and starts to laugh, silently, holding his breath, not wanting the scalding stream to turn on him.

"Wait." Spike reaches for her as she starts to stalk off. "Where are you going?"

"To get my ship back!" Faye almost screams.

"Faye! Wait!" Spike walks after her, still trying to get hold of her arm. He finally manages and sags her, though she comes around and almost wallops him good in the face once he does. "Come on. What the hell are you gonna do, huh?"

Ein, still barking like a maniac, dances around their feet. Faye almost trips over him, then scratches in anger and kicks him out of the way. Ein tumbles over, recovers, shakes his head.

"Gee, I dunno, I was thinking about 'borrowing' your damn piece of shit." Faye growls, yanking herself, trying to get free.

"Ok, first off-" Spike grapples with her for a second then gets hold of her again. "I told you, I'm almost out of fuel. Second-dammit, Faye, stop! Listen to me. I know where she's going."

Faye and Jet both freeze. "What."

Spike smiles in a knowing way.


End file.
